


Illuvianists

by AfanofManyStuffs



Category: Harry Potter- J.K. Rowling
Genre: 18+, AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Animators, Bisexual, Elemantal, Exotic Drugs, Explicit Language, Explicit Necromancy, F/F, F/M, Fairy, Fay - Freeform, For Mature audiences only, Graphic Rape, Graphic Sex, Graphic Torture, Harry Potter - Freeform, Harry Potter AU, Heterosexuality, Homosexuality, Illusionists, Illuvianists, Incubi, Lemons, Limes, M/M, Magic, Multi, NSFW, Necromancy, Non-Canon School, Orgy, Other, Rape, Sex, Sex Demon, Smut, Substance Abuse, Succubus, Supernatural - Genre, Time Manipulation, Vampire Politics, Vampires, Voice Magics, Werewolf Politics, Werewolves, fae, faery, incubus, magical creaures, succubi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-30
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-02-23 07:03:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2538644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AfanofManyStuffs/pseuds/AfanofManyStuffs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Glamouries that Lily applied to Harry as a baby are designed to break the second he believes himself to be an adult. He comes to this realization as he is healing from a beating that Vernon bestowed on him. He decides to leave Britain behind forever after some startling revelations. But forever is never as long as we think. In his bid for freedom, Harry discovers many things about his person, like the fact that he is an Elemental, a person with the ability to manipulate fire, water, air, or earth. He has just one problem with that- Elementals are drowned at birth. That issue is replaced with several others as he finds that there are others with his magical ability. But will his newfound powers help him when he’s sharing the classroom with Fae, Vampires, Werewolves, Demons and the occasional Succubus?</p><p>Work is abandoned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Summer to Forget

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A Second Chance at Life](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/80774) by Miranda Flairgold. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I was bitten by a REALLY vicious plot bunny. This is my first multi-chapter story, so please excuse short chapters. This may or may mot be finished, and it may be YEARS, yes, that's right, YEARS between updates. I am an extremely slow writer, and am deviating from my usual rule of writing it ALL, then posting. So we're in for a lo-o-ong ride. This is definitely NC-17 rated, and is for Mature, Open-Minded audiences ONLY. This has GUY ON GUY and GIRL ON GIRL AND GUY ON GIRL action. Consider yourselves warned. For more of my work, I have a fan fiction account on fanfiction.net under the name of A fan of Many Stuffs. Comments and reviews are all appreciated. Have fun, and don't get scarred permanately! All further A/N's will be at the bottom from now on.

Illuvianists

Chapter One: A Summer to Forget

 

 

Harry was downright _sick_ of his life. He hated himself, he hated the... _things_ that he lived with, he hated his 'friends', he hated _everyone_ and _everything_. The only things that he didn't downright hate was, perhaps, the bright summer Pansy's that were currently growing in Number Four's front garden bed. They were the most lovely shade of blue, as deep as…

 

 

(No, don't say it, merely thinking it will...)

 

 

As deep as... (Grey blustering London days, bitterly cold _still warm_ )

 

 

As... (Spring visits to a cold, damp, bitter cave _blinding happiness_ )

 

 

…as Sirius's eyes. The bright twinkle of deep royal blue as he glimpsed a shining happiness that nothing he saw could compare. Oh god, it _hurt_. The blinding pain of sadness, despair, nonodon'tgoawaydon'tevergoawayGETAWAYFROMMEICAN'TDOTHISGOAWAYCOMECLOSER– NO! No, no, no, I can't, I _won't_ do this. Oh god, oh god, oh god. Guilt. Pure, blinding guilt, doing nothing for the pain. Fuck, the _pain_. Against his will, the knife rose to his skin. Press and slide (oh god it hurt). Anything to distract. It felt good. Reminded him that he was still alive. Again. He dug deeper. _Just like him, to find he was living, that he had stole the precious life, life, the life that he had stolen, however indirectly, from... from…_

 

 

"Sirius!" The blood, red, red blood, ran down in rivulets on the contrast of white, white, _pale_ skin. It fell in drops to the wooden floor of his 'bedroom' in Little Whinging. _He didn't deserve this. Didn't deserve 'life', for whatever it was worth. His didn't mean very much, now that_ his _was gone._ His _was always worth it._

 

 

The knife dropped, and he was being screamed at all at once by Petunia. He seemed to be pushed out the front door, with orders to 'never come back'. She didn't mean it, and both of them knew it. He stumbled to the park, half-blind with pain, blood still dripping behind him, all over his clothes, smearing the pretty red lines as he plopped down into a swing with all the grace of a drunk elephant who was high... Say, getting high didn't sound too bad at the moment.

 

 

Absorbed as he was in his thoughts, he didn't notice the person in front of him until they had grabbed his hurt arm. _Ouch_. He was about to rip into this person until he noticed how oddly she was dressed. Three-inch platform heels, a bright purple corset with feather trim that showed off some very well bestowed assets, a sequined-studded petticoat with a _very prominent_ red thong peeking through, topped off with a sky-blue feather boa. The white blonde lavender-streaked waist length curtain of hair only served to make the picture even stranger. Currently, she was examining his arm, before she saw that he had blinked and stopped staring. To his embarrassment, he noticed that his mouth was hanging open and quickly shut it, hoping that this stranger hadn't noticed. She glanced up at him briefly before going back to staring at his arm.

 

 

"Do you need any help?" He started. The... voice, if that could even come close to describing that silky, smooth, husky, crème de la crème hypnotic voice that had come out of the being before him, was… indescribable, in the way that many voices are. The white chocolate skin of her face sparkled in the amber of the late afternoon sunlight as she tilted her head back up to look at him, still waiting for an answer.

 

 

"Uhh..." he uttered intelligently, still stunned. She smirked in reply, showing off teeth that were a shade of white that would make hospital nurses cry. They seemed to glitter in the light, too, as she spoke.

 

 

"I thought so. Hold on a sec and I'll take care of these cuts, then I'll take you clubbing in... Oh, I'm in the mood for London tonight. I was planning on France, but I think that would be too much for you at the moment. I just got an invite for me and a plus-one to go to a rockin' party for tonight, star studded with drugs of both magical AND muggle. I think someone even managed to get their hands on some Spice. What'cha say, _Yeux Vert_?" {Green-eyes}. He was brought back to reality in a snap. The situation hit him: He was sitting on a rusty swing in a withering park with an arm that was cut by his own hand and still bleeding heavily with a complete stranger which was dressed in an obscene outfit who was offering to take him all the way to London to a party with drugs. Harry knew what he would normally do, but if he did it, he thought he would cry out of pure despair. So he did what he thought any OTHER 15-year-old teenager with a pretty girl standing in front of them would do. He smiled smoothly and said in his best debonair voice,

 

 

"Of course, who wouldn't be honored to accompany such a _bella_ girl to what sounds like the perfect stress reliever.” {Beautiful} He wanted to try drugs, anyway. Maybe it would make him forget. She giggled in response. And then leaned down very, very close to his arm and... _licked it_. The wounds sealed after her... _tongue_ … passed over it.

 

 

He had a feeling he was going to regret this.

 

 

**{°~ <^>~°}**

 

 

After grabbing the girl's hand (whom he still needed a name for), he was promptly transported to a set of old, dilapidated warehouses in the industrial part of London by way of a curious falling sensation, accompanied by a sort of still darkness, which was odd in and of itself, considering that they were moving rather fast. Turning, she looked over him with a criticizing eye. She pulled out a wand without pausing at his flinch and transfigured his baggy Muggle clothes into a skintight emerald green long sleeved shirt and black leather flare pants. She smirked at her handiwork and then proceeded to pull him into the building that did not look like it belonged with the rest of the teens and young adults that were flooding the entrance. The people were dressed extravagantly, with corsets and short skirts and skintight clothing that showed more than it hid. There was even a _limo_ , for Merlin's sake! His companion also noticed as well, and gave it a disapproving glance before pursing her lips and shaking her head.

 

 

"My name is Voler l'Oiseau, but you can call me Clarissa. Forgive me for not introducing myself to you. I am, as you know, a magic- user. Wand-waver if you will. What might your name be, _Yeux Vert_? Unless you want me to call you that forever. We are currently at a party for Muggles, hosted by a close friend of mine. And please be careful with whom you bare your neck to." Quite frankly, Harry didn't hear past her asking his name. EVERYONE knew what his name was, knew what he looked like. It was... a novel experience for him. Someone didn’t know his name. So he decided to covet a name for the evening. No, he wasn’t Harry Potter, he was-

 

 

“Daniel Reosson’s the name,” he replied, smiling at her- _Clarissa_ \- and rubbing the hand that was connected to his, her means of pulling him around.

 

 

Clarissa, for the most part, looked pleased and guided him further into the warehouse, where music was already blasting over a PA system. At the refreshments table, where most everything was spiked with alcohol of differing origins (Who ever heard of vodka watermelon, or wanted apple juice mixed with Merlot?), a gaggle of multicolored girls came and swept up Harry and Voler. From what he could make out in between the whirl of color and getting fervently kissed, these were Clarissa's friends. Damn, these girls liked to use their nails, and they were _sharp_ , too. Granted, it was hard to concentrate on doing something as mundane as _thinking_ when being French kissed, never mind for the first time on his life, by girls who seemed _very_ experienced. At one point, he was pretty sure that there were two or three on him at once. Needless to say, there was a lot of lipstick being pressed to his face. His mind was still spinning with flashes of pink, purple, blue, and ribbons of all colors when they finally let him go. He was deposited, still mentally spinning (and maybe physically, too), near the drinks, where he noticed that there had been a table covered in yellow erected, and the drinks had little tags on them. Some tags had stars on them next to the lines of scribble.

 

 

Now, Harry was pretty dazed by this point, and he wasn't getting any sharper. So you can understand when he picked up a drink at random from the new table and threw it down. _Damn_ , it was sweet. It tasted like pure sugar, with a bitter undertone. Yech. So he picked up another one, only to find the same thing. Shaking his head, he staggered over (he would like to have called it walked) over to the previous drinks, where he picked up a wine glass. He sipped at it, and sighed at the pleasant bitter taste. At this point, other guys were being dropped off by the whirlwind of girls, all with stunned looks on their faces.

 

 

"Damn, man, that has got to be _the hottest_ thing I've done since the Denmark party with the snow," one guy half-slurred. "Did they hit you with the drugs? They must've got me a couple a' times, duuude." Harry just stared at the American with a vacant expression. "Ah, you been hitting the drugs alread-d-dy? Tell me, whatchya take, hmmm? You look happysh." He numbly pointed. The other guy looked confused for a minute, and then chuckled in a stuttering way. "Must've been hittin' harder th'n I shoughsh, maaan, cause there ain't nothin' therrre." Hnn. Interesting. Clarissa mentioned that there was magic stuff at the party. Must have notice-me-not charms over it. Hey, speak of the devil. Here she comes now, free of her gaggle and giggling. Or was it gaggleing and giggle? Hm, sounded like- like- He started staggering (walking!) toward her, only to trip and have a nice, _warm_ body catch him. He snuggled down into it.

 

 

"Hey, Daniel, you alright? They didn't hit you too hard, right, I _told_ them you were a newbie, oh, I bet Jessica hit you good she always _was_ fond of the needles in her nails, hey you have a drink! Here, let me kiss you I wanna know what you had so I can see if it mixes with Spice oh my god you just HAVE to try SPICE! It's the best drug since Demon-Faerie blood!" Harry didn't really understand a word of that. He was pretty sure she was hyped up on something, too. Maybe he was, as well? No, he wasn't hyped UP, more like drugged DOWN. Well, damn, if this was the effect, he needed to get drugged more often. Quite suddenly, the girl-Volay? Classy?- had her mouth on his. Without thinking, he fought his way into her mouth with his tongue. It was _yummy_. Sweet, but dangerous, like… like… like vanilla mixed with chocolate and topped with exotic honey. _Mmmm._ Moans reached his ears, but he had no idea who it was. And then the sensations were intensified a hundred-fold. His eyes shot open wide and he broke away, rubbing his wrist from the sharp pinch it had received. His eyes were blurry, so he decided to take off the irritating wire resting on his nose. _Wow._ The picture was clearer than it had ever been before. His mate was now inserting the needle of a previously unknown syringe and inserting it into her arm with precision before pressing the plunger. Apparently the other half had gone into him.

 

 

If possible, she started chattering even _faster­._

 

 

“Hey, SWEET! They say that this is what a vampire’s senses are supposed to be like in fact there was a study a few years ago when they switched consciousness, that is a vamp’s and human’s and gave the human body with a vampire consciousness Spice and among the endorphins and general unhinged-ness, he said that it felt _almost exactly like_ being in their vampire body. Although, I think that that’s also how Vampyres, that is Vamp-years, were created- they have the mental abilities of a vampire with better reflexes, but not the full-blown strength. They’re also less sensitive to the sun, hey let’s dance! You seemed to like kissing, so maybe we could do that again. OH, OH, I KNOW WHAT WE COULD DO! We can get some venom aphrodisiac to get even MORE high! Oh, oh, that sounds even better! C’mon, DANCE!”

 

 

With that, she drug him onto the dance floor, where there was a mass of gyrating, pulsing bodies swaying to the beat of some popular Muggle music. His senses were going out of control. He felt like he knew _every single thing_ going on in the room. He could _feel_ the beat of the music, pulsing through the room. He could _hear_ every heartbeat in the room, delivering warmblood to their bodies at an accelerated rate. Just being able to _see_ without his glasses was a brand new experience for him. His sight was better than it had ever been before. Purple and blue lights had never looked so… complex. The sheer amount of _scent_ in the room was astounding. He could smell twenty different kinds of expensive perfume from the gaggle of girls that had apparently drugged him and were still swirling around the room. The musk of the cologne from the men, most of them expensive. The sweat and a sickly sweet stench from the dancers and what he thought was drugs, respectively. The bitter burn of alcohol.

 

 

Then he was being pulled from where he was standing in awe and forced to bounce around off-beat with his crazy companion. Then, he smelled something that he just _had to have_. It was a drink, sitting innocently on the refreshment table. It smelled so _good_. He downed it in one gulp and his pupils immediately dilated. He went cross-eyed for a moment from the sheer _pleasure_. He felt like he was floating above everyone else. His emotions and mind were dulled even further. He didn’t even remember what he was so upset about anymore. Celia- Celly? He couldn’t remember- was at his side again. He stared at her face. It was sparkling in the strobe lights. She laughed at him, and he dimly noted that her eyes were a deep sapphire blue with a light ice-blue ring around them. No human had eyes like that, but he couldn’t bring himself to care anymore. _So pretty- no, beautiful. So beautiful. _Without thinking about it, he kissed her.

 

 

**{°~ <^>~°}**

 

 

From the moment his lips touched hers, it was ecstasy. Their mouths met, open, and she seemed to melt into it. Her hands found their way to his hair, pulling and tugging, while his gripped her waist. Her mouth was wet, hot, and oh god his heightened senses were here too, her mouth tasting like mint and vanilla and alcohol, something spicy and sweet and _Clarissa_. He vaguely remembered kissing other girls, and it wasn’t anything like _this_. Their tongues fought for dominance, hers winning by sheer winding and twisting over his. _Pleasing, pressuring._ Bodies pressed close together, skin on skin, mouth to mouth, hands to body. Her corset was satin, silky smooth under his touch, tongue teasing another, and-

 

 

Nothing. She had pulled back, wanting for air. He examined her, face flushed, lips puffy and red, feathers in disarray. Her head was cocked to one side, still panting for air.

 

 

“Damn drugs,” she muttered, “Reduced air capacity. _Dammit_.” Then she smiled at him. “Hey hot boy, how about a dance? Then maybe we can find another avenue for the evening.” In response, he shrugged and nodded. Fiery pleasure still racing through his veins, he took great satisfaction in grinding against anyone who came in contact with him. He kissed a few more girls, got into a hot lap-dance with another guy, drunk some more alcohol, and was pretty sure he got a couple more of the sweet drinks with the drugs in them.

 

 

As the night progressed, he eventually found himself in a corner with another guy and a girl, kissing and nipping and biting, rutting, grinding, squeezing. After achieving gratification by a hand down his pants (Someone else’s callused hand maybe, he wasn’t sure), he staggered back to the dance floor. Clarissa found her way to his side sometime or another, because the next thing he was cognitive of was being dragged to a shadow and being kissed with more of those addicting kisses. Hands were wandering, and somehow found his half-hard erection. Lips trailed down his chest through his shirt while nimble fingers pulled his pants down and freed him. Suddenly, teeth found his sensitive nub of a nipple and bit down for a second, and then released only to engulf his cock. Dear god, he nearly came then and there, but for fingers around the base of it. A hot, pretty little mouth bobbed up and down, swirling, kissing, _sucking_. His fingers wound in and pulled platinum hair as the torture grew more intense. Biting, nipping, scraping, prolonged nibbling. Her fingers found their way to his nipples through the cloth and pinched them, _hard_. He gasped, violently. She then rubbed them, back and forth, back and forth. The heat was unbearable, his breath shuddering. He didn’t notice that the pressure at the base was gone. He was leaking pre-cum, eyes dilated to extreme proportions. That hot little _mouth_ was bobbing faster, faster, faster fasterfasterfaster and oh god,hewascoming _again_. A scream of pleasure was wrangled from his mouth as his cock pulsed once, twice, three times as it was deep-throated and sucked some _more_ \- wrung for every drop. He leaned against the wall for support, hardly noticing as his dick came free with a wet _pop_. He vaguely recognized being kissed by that sinful mouth once more as she headed back on the dance floor.

 

 

 

 

**{°~ <^>~°} **

 

 

He didn’t see his companion for the rest of the night after that, as far as he was aware (and awareness was something that he was lacking at the moment). The rest of the night was a hazy blur of more drugs, alcohol, kissing, and fooling around. At some point in the night, he was partially aware that the drug table had disappeared from his sight, but was too damn high to care. He just kept on drinking, drugging, dancing, and orgasming. The night continued on, regardless. He met the floor sometime during a rare slow song, and stayed there as acromantulas and thestrals mixed with Hippogriffs came crawling out of the walls and windows and attacked the few dancers left, as they danced on, oblivious to the spectacle going on. He laughed his ass off during the entire time before succumbing to sweet unconsciousness.

 

 

**{°~ <^>~°} **

 

 

No one noticed a passed-out lump against the wall. And if they did, well, _Just another one_ , after all.

 

 

**{°~ <^>~°}**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it. Was it long enough? Next chapter, things aren't quite as carefree. Stay tuned!


	2. Truth Untold

Illuvianists- Truth Untold

 

Chapter 2

 

 

“Daniel… Damien? Roessow? Helloooo, can you heaaar me? It’s mooorniiinnnng, mooorooon. Wakey Wakey, Mr. Mister” Harry came around to a bright light pinning his eye balls with swords and a rude voice sing-songing in his ear. He groaned slowly as he rolled over and attempted to open his eyes.

 

 

“Oh, good, you’re up. It’s, like, 10 AM and I’m _sure_ you have some person looking for you by now. C’mon, Danny or whatever your name is, I gotta get you home. It’d be rude to leave you here in London with no means to get home. Up, mister.” He didn’t bother to correct the person as he got his pupils blasted, before giving in, closing his eyes, and sitting up.

 

 

“Whrglmih?” he muttered. The silky voice who had been prodding him from sleep asked for clarification. “Where am I?” he repeated. He began the process of getting his eyes back to working normally. Open, _ouch_!, close, repeat. Meanwhile, the voice (Whom he was getting glimpses of, and was _very_ pretty) was snorting at him.

 

 

“What, do you not remember last night _at all_? I know you don’t do this often, but I feel like a loser now for taking a person to a rage who can’t even remember that he went. Gosh. You’re in London, Dopey. Hmph.” London? How in Merlin’s name did he get to _London?_ What had happened last night?

 

 

It came back to him in flashes. A whirls of colors, giggling. A sickly sweet drink. Heightened senses. Dancing. _A blowjob. Multiple times. By different freaking genders._

 

 

“Oh _shit_.” The girl- Clarissa? -snorted.

 

 

“I knew it’d come back to you sooner or later, dumbass. Finally. You live in Privet Drive, Surrey, too, in case you didn’t know. Gosh.” Harry’s head positively hurt by now, eyes and ears aching. He felt sluggish, like he had a few too many hours of sleep, or had been given a double dose of Dreamless Sleep. He ignored the fact that he didn’t remember dreaming, and had had a good sleep without nightmares.

 

 

“Well, come on, then. I have an urgent matter to attend to. Like, life-or-death urgent.”

With that, she gripped his arm, and a peculiar portal of lit darkness appeared in front of her. She dragged him in, and a vaguely familiar sensation enveloped him- falling while still. Debilitated as he was, he couldn’t make heads or tails of it before they were spat out at the park where this mess started from. Or rather, where he _voluntarily agreed_ to let this happen to him. The light hurt his eyes.

 

 

A quick “Bye!” was all he got before that odd, _odd_ portal-thingie made its appearance again and swept his companion off. He was already regretting last night.

 

 

**{°~ <^>~°}**

 

 

Still blinking furiously, he took stock of the situation. He had just been deposited in Little Whinging’s park by an aforementioned oddly dressed girl whose name was either Clarissa or Volet or neither, aching and drowsy from a night of _drugs and drinking and oh-my-god almost having sex_. He was now expected to go back to the Dursely’s and… what? Pretend that last night hadn’t happened? He thought carefully on the idea for a while before deciding it acceptable. Perhaps, if he was lucky, _she_ would come back for him. That would be fun, despite his regrets this time. He just wouldn’t take so many drugs this time. Stick to the alcohol. A hangover _must_ be better that what he had now, right?

 

 

Now, you must understand that at this particular moment in time, Harry had something akin to a light hangover (Not that he had any idea what a hangover actually _was_ , mind you), combined with the after-effects of the numerous drugs that he had imbibed upon at The Party, amounting to a monster headache, slowed reflexes, and a general numbing of the body and mind. So by the time our poor, poor human had stumbled and tripped his way to the house, it was quite near eleven O’clock on a Saturday morning.

 

 

His relatives were Not Happy.

 

 

**{°~ <^>~°}**

 

 

Harry practically fell into the front foyer of the Dursely’s house. He wasn’t all that silent about it, either. Luckily, the TV in the living room had its volume turned up so high, it was a wonder that the neighbors didn’t barge in, complaining. His head was _really_ fuzzy, and he slammed into a door rather painfully. The noise wasn’t helping him. Blithely reaching for the handle, he was pathetically spat out across the floor, doing a spectacular face plant right into the hardwood floors, not only breaking his nose with a sickening crunch, but also sliding, rather incidentally, right between the family of three sitting on the couch and the television which was blasting his over-sensitive eardrums painfully. He could feel the six eyes on him for a few scant moments before Uncle Vernon started yelling quite clearly right over the TV set, a rather impressive feat in Harry’s eyes.

 

 

“WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS, BOY? BEEN GONE ALL NIGHT! ABSOLUTELY NO CONCERN WHATSOEVER FOR US! THOSE BLOODY _FREAKS_ OF YOURS _DARED_ TO COME INTO THE HOUSE AT AN UNGODLY HOUR AND DEPRIVE ALL OF US OF SOME _MUCH_ NEEDED SLEEP! HOW DARE YOU!” Harry violently flinched, unintentionally slamming his head into the stand and knocking the telly over. The extremely large, flat screen, very expensive, top of the line _new_ telly over. On him.

 

 

Glass shattered, both that of the television screen and of the coffee table. Plastic broke into hundreds of shards, glass splintering into thousands. An alarming zap was heard as the device was violently pulled from its plug unwillingly. There were screams, shouts, fire smoking, bellowing, yelling, and quite possibly sirens in the cacophony of noise. The last thing Harry caught sight of before he descended into unconsciousness was the look of Vernon’s fat face – a shade of red that made traffic lights look dull.

 

 

**{°~ <^>~°}**

 

 

He woke up in his room. The window had been boarded over with plywood, throwing the room into darkness, but the lamp had been left on, allowing him to see. His belongings had been somewhat rearranged. Hedwig’s cage was conspicuously missing from its usual perch of the desk. The desk itself had been cleared of all parchment, quills, and ink wells. His trunk, he noted, had been moved into his room, sitting neatly next to the desk, upright. He was gagged with a wad of cloth in his mouth, and upon testing them, he found that both his arms and legs had been bound with rough twine at the wrists and ankles, digging into his skin irritatingly. The bed had been stripped of the sheets, and replaced with plastic, which he was currently placed upon.

 

 

All of this was extremely alarming, but what set off both the alarm bells AND the red sirens was that he was unharmed, except for perhaps the odd bruise that he had created unwittingly for himself by crashing into things. His nose was still broken, and there were a few glass shards sticking into him in places, but there were no more added injuries to his person. Even the over sensitivity and headache he had suffered from before was gone. He had expected at least a black eye inflicted by the human whale, or maybe a stabbing sensation caused by one of the human horse’s spike heels. He didn’t get the chance to dwell on this unexpected circumstance before he heard the many locks on his door clicking open.

 

 

He had only moments to gather himself before Vernon stomped into the room, face still as red as a stoplight. He swore that the human whale growled at him before bringing a baseball bat up and threw it down over his legs. They didn’t snap, but instead bruised horribly, eliciting a groan of pain from him. The fat thing that was standing over him brought the bat down on him twice more before one of his legs broke with a sickening snap. He then made the mistake of giving a muffled yell, apparently mistook for attempted speech.

 

 

“Do not even _speak_ to me, _freak_. You, who has been nothing but a doddering _freak_ , a heavy _burden_ to MY perfectly _normal_ family! We took you in, clothed you, fed you, and what do we get in return? NOTHING! Nothing but you ruining our possessions! Do you know what those _freaks_ did while you were gone? THEY DEMANDED TO COME IN AT THREE O’CLOCK IN THE MORNING AND SCREAM AT US! _US!_ For not knowing where _you_ were. And when they _dared_ to threaten us, _US_ , I called the police on them for _breaking and entering_. And DO YOU KNOW WHAT THEY DID, FREAK? THEY DID FREAK THINGS TO THEM! Made them act all loopy and sent them away! WE COULDN’T GET THEM OUT OF THE HOUSE UNTIL SIX AM! SIX AM! And now _you_ come back here, _drunk_ , like your no good parents and your even WORSE godfather!”

 

 

Vernon had jumped on him at the beginning of his little speech and started pummeling him. _Hard_. Fists broke his nose further, his jawline cracked, ribs were bruised, legs kicked and jumped, with the plastic providing a crinkling soundtrack through it all. His breath came in short, shallow gasps as he struggled to get enough air to function past the quivering mass of fat on top of him. Vernon was still monologuing.

 

 

“And that’s when I decided, that since all of this fuss was because of YOU, boy, it was YOU who ought to pay for it.”

 

 

While those ominous words were still ringing in the air, the pummeling stopped and Vernon rolled off of the bed and pulled him into a sitting position against the wall. The twine was digging into his skin, burning every time he moved even just a little bit. He watched his uncle go towards the closet and open the door, revealing his precious Hedwig with blood running down her white feathers.

 

 

“You are a _nothing_ , freak. You aren’t good for _anything_ , thing. You aren’t a boy. You’re a _freak_ , an _abomination_. A _thing_. You have been neglecting your duties, and have made Pet cook and clean when she shouldn’t have to! Ungrateful thing.”

 

 

Harry was shocked. His uncle had clearly gone off the deep end, going bipolar like this! And he… he was the madman’s mercy… _shit. Dumbledore, any day now!_ He did his best to ignore any thoughts about Hedwig.

 

 

He turned next to his trunk, the bat in his hand.

 

 

“I attempted to burn this freakishness, but the freak things have made it impossible. So I’ll destroy it.”

 

 

Vernon first moved it into the center of the room, proceeded to spat at it, and then opened it. The first thing that was on top of it was his wand.

 

 

“Since I refuse to let you go back to your freak school, you’ll have no need for this flimsy piece of wood, eh?”

 

 

With that, he snapped it in two, phoenix feather broken at the middle. Harry cried out, feeling something snap inside, too. Vernon growled at him to shut up, before shredding anything and everything inside the trunk in front of his eyes. When the trunk was empty, he smashed that, too, laughing all the way through it. His album, torn and scattered across the floor. His invisibility cloak, scissored into pieces. His wand, snapped into so many pieces that they were splinters, feather befallen the same fate. His robes and clothing were burnt to ashes, books torn to snowflakes. What remained of Sirius’ mirror was thrown across him, causing further injury. The transfigured clothes on him were ripped off and burned as well. Ink-wells and quills stained and scattered across the floor. Potions ingredients thrown in the closet and the cauldron followed them, causing an explosion from combined ingredients. The body of his owl was surely beyond decency now. Acrid smoke permeated the air, a grey sheet of potentially deadly gas. But Vernon seemed to breathe it in without harm, so Harry ignored it. With every snip, every tear, every click of the lighter in his uncle’s hands, something within him broke, too. Several somethings.

 

 

Vernon the Human Whale stood there, surrounded in his own creation of destruction, grinning and cackling, delighted by his own actions and the sorrow and shock clearly displayed upon his nephew’s face. That creepy, creepy grin still adorned his face as he crept closer to the bed and pushed Harry down and rolled him over.

 

 

“And now, _freak_ , I will show you what you will be doing for the next two years to pay for what we have done for you- _and what you have done to us_.”

 

 

With that, he pushed down his underwear, his last remaining article of clothing, and heard the metallic sliding of a belt being undone. The pig only grunted from that moment on as he pushed past skin and muscle. Harry panicked. He tensed up as his uncle’s enlarged family jewels pushed past his last reserves and started to scream. Surely _someone_ would hear him. His guard, for one.

 

 

He writhed and wriggled, trying to get out from under the pig’s massive weight. The only thing that his frenzied screaming managed to attract was Dudley, looking at the scene from the open door. He was dressed in his pajamas and stroking himself to arousal. He closed his eyes and screamed and struggled harder. _Must get away. Must be free. Get me away! Get me away! Get me AWAY!!!_ He hoped his magic would do something, _anything_ , but nothing happened. The pig sucked in a breath, panting. Spreading his disgusting sweat all over him. _Animal._ _Uncivilized, bloody animal. Yuck_. The pig thrusted once, twice, thrice more and something heavy was put where it should not be allowed to go.

 

 

He screamed louder yet, literally feeling his vocal chords as they vibrated to new heights. _Pig_ seemed to have recovered enough to pull out – _thank god_ \- and give him a fist to the head.

 

 

“Shuddup, _freak_. It’s not like this is new. _Freak_.”

 

 

Harry fell silent and froze, the _pig’s_ words taking all of a second to assimilate.

 

 

 

**{°~ <^>~°}**

 

 

Looking back, the real breaking point was when the pig had muttered about betting that his ‘No good, sucking, good-for-nothing freak of a criminal and drunkard, whom should have been hung godfather’ had done this to him, too. Hindsight may provide 20/20 vision, but only if your eyes were open. Anything past that was sensations, beginning with an audible snap, like a bone breaking, and an uprising of magic.

 

 

_Swirling. Burning. Broken. **Angry**. _

_Bold. Free. New. **Vengeance**._

_Green. Red. Orange. **Dark.**_

****

****

**_I will be renewed. And nothing shall hold me back._ **

****

****

**{°~ <^>~°}**

 

 

When he woke up, the house had been burned to a crisp, along with what few belongings that might have been salvageable. There were three skeletons in the ashes, one a pile of thin bones, one skeleton found gripping his pelvis, along with one very broken up skeleton. Harry suspected that it had been quite tortured by the time the owner of the bones had died.

 

 

The Order had taken him away to Headquarters, still in Number 12, London. The reminder of his godfather wasn’t appreciated at all, although he didn’t show it. He just curled up on the bed and wept. Wept for the new memories flooding through his mind, the loss of something he never knew he had, never knew he lost. For the loss of his ignorance, his bliss of being dreadfully uninformed.

 

 

He wept for the loss of his very identity, even as he lost consciousness.

 

 

**_And heaven help any who tries to hold me back, for I will have no mercy._ **

****

****

**{°~ <^>~°}**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Virtual figgy pudding to anyone who gets the Not Happy comment. This chapter was a tad difficult. I hope I did it justice. A few words shorter than the last one, but I felt that it was a good place to break. 
> 
> Any thoughts on Hermione? How reasonable do you think she may be to Harry's plight? Shall she join him on his escape from England? 
> 
> I think I'll start a playlist for this story. It will most likely be very eclectic, and if I use such obscure songs that you can't find it on you tube, then I'll use that obscure a song. As for this chapter's song, I believe it will be Forsaken by Within Temptation. Full playlist will soon be on my fan fiction account.
> 
> The more exciting parts are going to be beginning soon. 
> 
> As for now; a toast to the grandest of all plotbunnies- Every story ever written! (Including mine!)


	3. Rememberance of Things to Come

He dreamt that night, after being rescued from the still-smoldering remains of that house.

 

 

_Five years old, locked in his cupboard for two days so far, for doing ‘freakishness’. His name was Boy. It was better than being beaten. The dark was comforting, better than the light. Light was harsh, and brought with it bad things._

_-_

_Six years old, brought to the guestroom for some reason after burning Dudley by accident. His uncle brought in a man dressed in a three-piece-suit, looking inordinately happy. He was confused when his uncle told him to strip. The other man had a strange expression on his face. Uncle Vernon walked out of the room, whistling. The other man pinned him to the bed immediately._

_It was a bad night._

_-_

_Seven years old. His name was Harry Potter only at school. He was called Lovely, Freak, or Boy mostly. When the strange men came, he learned to stay still and groan. Maybe then, his hair wasn’t pulled or his arms bruised. He noticed that after each man, his uncle went out and bought something extravagant. Tailored suits, precious jewelry for his Aunt, a video game console with a new telly for Dudley._

_Maybe one day he would get some new clothes, or at least something that fit him._

_-_

_Nine years old. The men were coming less, now. He was shipped off to a summer camp that year. He was taught to do horrible things to bodies, or be beaten._

_He came home at the end of summer to a state of the art kitchen and a remodeled house with no bruises at all._

_-_

_Eleven years old. He was weeding the garden when a strange man came up to the fence and pointed a stick at him. He was confused. Was this a Punishment? But they usually came at night, and didn’t wear dresses._

_“Harry, my boy, I had no idea this would happen,” he said sorrowfully, “I’m afraid this is the best I can do for you. Obliviate.”_

_He woke up when it started to rain lightly and it was growing dark, devoid of all energy. His Hogwarts letter came two days later._

**{°~ <^>~°}**

 

 

Harry woke up, panting heavily. He knew it wasn’t just a dream. No, it was… dare he think it?... _memories._

 

 

Just like he knew that he had killed the Durselys, burnt the house down, and snapped the wards.

 

 

 

 

**{°~ <^>~°}**

 

 

 

When he woke up later that morning, it was to Hermione and Ron sitting at his bedside, talking. He was about to open his eyes, but then the content of their conversation caught his attention

 

 

“I can’t believe this, Ronald, do you know what the results of the diagnosis was? It was astounding! His uncle had obviously done a number on him, what from the broken glass lodged sub-cutaneously, the broken nose, leg, and multiple ribs, along with the severe rope burns on his wrists and ankles, but do you know what _else_ it found, Ron? Do you? Because it said that there was residual alcohol and muggle drugs in his system. Now, that alone is alarming, at best, but… but they didn’t _just_ find that. And I have to know, from you…”

 

 

What in the world was Hermione on about now? He could practically hear the gears and cogs in her brain whirring. The symptom this time seemed to be verbal diarrhea, not letting anyone get a word in edgewise.

 

 

“… Ronald Weasley, did you give Harry any magical drugs last term?”

 

 

It was spoken with a finality about it, like she had already made up her mind and was merely looking for a confession. This didn’t bode well for anyone.

 

 

“WHAT? Hermione! You know that I would NEVER do that!”

 

 

“I’m sorry, Ron, but the results showed that Harry had massive amounts of all sorts of drugs in his system. The only person that I can think of that would give him anything like that was you. Unless you know anyone that had?”

 

 

Hermione was on a roll now, and didn’t let Ron take a breath before continuing on her tangent.

 

 

“Muggle drugs alone can have extreme ill effects, and are addicting if taken for too long, but their magical equivalents are even worse. For example, the Muggle drug heroin is completely addictive within three to five doses, but the magical drug seramethicon addicts the user in two doses alone. The most harmful and addictive magical drugs create dependency by a mixed effect of magical, physical, and psychic relaxation by traveling through the magical pathways, speeding up blood pressure, relaxing muscles, and calming the mind and muting emotions. Granted, you probably don’t care of the schematics of it, but it matters to me, and most specifically Harry, because he took at least five different magical drugs, some had multiple doses, even, and this could spell disaster for him, especially if you didn’t tell him how to be careful, Ron.”

 

 

“But, Hermione, I didn’t give him anything. Dumbledore told me not to. Said it would interfere with his training. Didn’t he say anything like that to you?”

 

 

“Of _course_ he said not to give Harry anything. That’s why I’m shocked that you would give him something, especially something like this. It’s possible, with the effects of the drugs, it… well, it could have opened up his magical pathways, and a wizard’s channels are never bigger than the magic has the capacity to fill. It’s possible that it could have broken the bindings on his magic.”

 

 

Harry was vaguely aware that Ron answered, but didn’t hear his reply. He was too busy seething. He was glad that they weren’t paying too much attention to him, because he was sure that the tensing of his muscles as he tried to keep still was visible. But it was what he heard from Hermione next that boiled his blood.

 

 

“…Not to mention, except for the possibility of it messing with the Obliviation and whatever they do to him when he goes to the Professor’s Club, it couldn’t have interfered with the Master bindings. Those would have to be removed by the caster himself, in this case, Headmaster Dumbledore. It would be impossible to undo those without the express permission of the caster, and an extremely Dark ritual involving a massive amount of blood and Merlin knows what else. It also would be highly improbable…”

 

 

Harry had heard enough. But he had to be careful with this knowledge. It was obvious- he had a new enemy. Just what he needed.

 

 

**{~° <^>°~}**

 

 

A groan. Movement. Ceased talking. More movement. Shuffling feet. Something crashing.

 

 

Green eyes blinked open to find blue and brown staring at them in equal anxiety. Brown flicked over to blue for a moment in worry before latching back on to green. Blue eyes exchanged a look with brown three seconds too late after blinking twice at green eyes. Green switched between traitorous blue and defecting brown.

 

 

Questioning words. Questioning answers. Standing upright. Hidden fury. Angry questions. Ridiculous answers. Shocked responses. Yelling.

 

 

Amber eyes flash yellow. Ice blue eyes turn in consternation. Onyx are annoyed and take their leave. Green eyes dance in anger, unspilled grief shining, magnifying. Blue show indignation. Brown see knowingly. Green eyes flash and whirl round the room, meeting metallic grey; unseeing. Green close and turn, filled with pain. Ice blue beseech, but the recipients don’t see.

 

 

Green eyes turn and walk out.

 

 

**{°~ <^>~°}**

After stalking out of Grimmauld Place in a fit of rage after not accepting the answer to as why he was there, two months after losing his godfather, he ran around Muggle London to cool off; running the pain away.

 

 

It was funny to think that he had been here just last night. Or was it two nights ago? He didn’t keep time too well during summer. It was easy to let two or three days slip by without him noticing, lost in an ocean as it were.

 

 

He eventually came to a park where he decided to walk around for some time. He was walking over a bridge when he saw a quasi-familiar head leaning over the railing, feeding some ducks. Casually, he walked beside her and asked,

 

 

“Do you know the time and date, perchance? I’m afraid I’m terribly late for a meeting.”

 

 

Lavender streaked waist length hair whirled about and the short frame of Clarissa looked at him in distaste. She had changed out of her party wear and had on a loose t-shirt with yoga pants on.

 

 

“You again. Gods save me. If you’re late, then what are you doing talking to me, _Yeux Vert_? Just cast a Tempus. Or are you not a wizard? Hmph.”

 

 

Harry blinked twice in quick succession, taking in the statement… Oh. He hadn’t told her his age. Oops?

 

 

“Em… I’m only sixteen. I do suppose that I didn’t tell you. And I’m not actually late for a meeting. I’m currently on the run a bit, really.”

 

 

She rolled her eyes and cocked an eyebrow at him before turning back to the ducks.

 

 

“That’s curious, I could have sworn I saw his description in the registry,” she muttered under her breath. Louder, she replied, “On the run a _bit_? Would you care to tell me the story, _Yeux Vert_? Hmmm?”

 

 

Daringly, courageously (and maybe just a little bit sarcastically, if he was honest with himself), Harry replied, “Well, that’s a bit of a tall tale, but if you know someplace that I can stay for a few nights, off of the main highways, I may be inclined to tell you, if you have time. Money is no object for me.”

 

 

To his utmost surprise, she laughed. A high, tinkling sound.

 

 

“Oh, _Yeux Vert,_ you amuse me so. Just for that, I will spend the night with you, so that I may hear your tale of tallness.” She chuckled some more, making him feel like a child. But he still got what he wanted.

 

 

Right?

 

**{°~ <^>~°}**

She had brought him to America. New York City, she said. He didn’t much care, anyway or another. They had checked into a Muggle hotel with gold filigree on the counters and received two plastic cards and told that room 825 was theirs for however long they wanted.

 

 

He didn’t pay much attention to the room, although it was twice the size of the- _things_ \- living room and kitchen combined. His escort didn’t give it a second look either, giving the impression that she was quite used to surroundings similar to these. They sat on opposing loveseats and looked at each other. Clarissa drew a wand and waved it silently in a mesmerizingly complex pattern, sometimes deviating from the set pace and series of loops, flicks, and waves that seemed nonsensical to him at the moment. He noticed that her exotic eyes weren’t looking upon her movements; instead focused, half-lidded, on the setting sun behind him. He turned to look at the orange globe spreading a hazy golden color on the cityscape of skyscrapers before him, streaking the skies with slivers of pink and purple, threading, twining through and beyond it in irregular patterns, all dispersed by the haze of smog hovering above a sky that was slowly turning to a deep indigo, spreading across the expanse of space slowly, almost imperceptibly, from east to west.

 

 

He shook himself out of his reverie. He had some explaining to do, and wasn’t going to be waxing poetic about it, either.

 

**{~° <^>~°}**

  


“So tell me, _Yeux Vert,_ how are you a _little bit_ on the run? To me, you either are or are not. Granted, I shouldn’t squabble over your wording when I ought to be squabbling over _you_ to tell me whom you are on the run _from_.”

 

 

Harry raised an eyebrow. She talked with a French accent, but was obviously a native user of English. Her vocabulary was too expanded for it not to be, at her apparent age. He wondered a moment how he should start. The truth, or something less? He had a new persona to build, if what his magic was telling him came to fruition.

 

 

He began to spin a tale from words that spilled out from his tongue and teeth as if it had been waiting for him to say it since his birth. And so he took the leap, the leap to freedom, to overwhelming potential, the leap to be whatever he wanted for the first time in his life.

 

 

“From the beginning? From the very beginning of the top of this mess? Yes? Get comfortable, then, because it’s a very long road…”

 

 

He shifted in his seat slightly before continuing.

 

 

“I was born in a small country in Eur-”

 

 

He was cut off by a sharp pain in his neck, and all went dark…

 

**{°~ <^>~°}**

 

He woke to an echoing voice.

 

 

“Oui, je serai là dans quelques heures... Non, bien sûr -... Pourquoi! Si jamais tu dis quelque chose à quelqu'un, et je te promets que je le saurais car rien n'échappe aux vides ténèbres, je te traquerai comme l'animal que tu es, et je te traînerai jusqu'au huitième cercle d'Emos!... Et bien oui, je sais ça ... Non, tu- JE T'AI DIS QUE TU NE PEUX PAS ME DEMANDER, J'AI ÉTÉ JURÉ AU SECRET! Non pas que je m'attendais à ce que tu t'en préoccupes vraiment.La Vita, Kanoë. Yes, you too. No!”

 

 

He heard a sharp click, and then the sound of her high heels clacking across the floor came nearer to him. What mess had he gotten himself into now? He hoped that the Order would rescue him, particularly Dumbledore…

 

 

“I know you’re awake, _Yeux Vert_. It was quite obvious. Your breathing pattern changed dramatically. _Far_ too noticeable to anyone who bothers to look closely. But for not opening your eyes, even at this junction where I have already pointed out you’re awake I give you five points. Because for all you know, I may just be practicing my evil speech on my captive. I will also detract five for going to an unknown place with an unknown person and letting your guard down. Five more for being daring enough to get my attention, but not being too reckless and therefore arousing my suspicion. But I must take five away, once again, for your overly dramatic monologue that was about to start. But for thinking of an obviously complex lie in the very short time you had, I must commend you five more points. This brings us to a total of five, and also the conclusion that you have not heard of The Registry before. So the score is acceptable, ‘Aryy Potter. Most especially that most trainees that don’t know about it tend to have a negative number.”

 

 

Harry was extremely confused. If confusion was explosive, then he would have been a nuclear bomb. It must have shown on his face, for Clarissa started talking again.

 

 

“I may have to detract five points for _cluelessness_ , _Yeux Vert._ The Academy sent me so that you could go through you qualification process. As it is, you have been accepted. The Registry, I cannot explain to you now. This is an unsecured location. Any other questions? Well, no matter if you do. I have an explanation to recite.”

 

 

Academy… he had obviously been entered into another magical school, but there must have been a mistake. He went to Hogwarts, after all. He went to say as such, but she cut him off before he could.

 

 

“Now, as your… eh, what do the Muggles call them? Ah, an orienteer. As your orienteer, I have to prepare you for The Academy. These preparations are including but not limited to death, execution, torture, getting your eyeballs removed by needles and/or forks, or any other possible remotely pointy object, getting ripped limb by limb and then having them magically reattached while under the effects of an Ever-Awake potion combined with sexual simulation before getting ripped into pieces once again, being Imperioused into singing a razor blade under your tongue…. Oops. Wrong speech,” she said when she deigned him with a glance at his increasingly pale face.

 

 

“Wh-what speech was that f-f-for?” he forced himself to ask, through (to his everlasting shame) his stuttering. He was met with a scary grin from his captor.

 

 

“Why, _Yeux Vert_ , that was the warning list for _attending_ our dear school. Those were some of the risks that you face while being taught how to defend yourself from most of those very threats along with various advanced magiks, crafting skills, and, of course, your Elemental abilities.”

 

 

Before Harry could string together the words in his mind to say that he wasn’t going to this school, and decipher what the hell she was nattering on about, _elemental abilities_?, she continued on.

 

 

“The preparations required to whip you into shape are too numerous to say at this time, but I shall endeavor to give you an abridged version. First of all, you need to get into physical shape. If you cannot at least run from threats, sometimes for prolonged periods of time, you would be toast by the end of the first week, depending on how long you can keep you head down for. Priority two is to open up your magical channels a bit and start getting you weaned off of your wand. Thrice, your Elemental abilities seem to have a lock on them, otherwise you’d have been out of that cage in an instant. Even if your magical reserves are completely drained, if the Elemental core is still untouched, then you could just blast your way through whatever shit pile you’ve gotten your ass stuck in. Another thing that must be done…”

 

 

Her voice continued on for a while, but Harry really didn’t hear too much of it. His head was still reeling. Academy? This was preposterous. Hogwarts was the best school for Witchcraft and Wizardry. He wasn’t going to suddenly transfer away from his friends, anyway… The events in Grimmauld Place came to his mind once again. Well, maybe his friends weren’t that high in his good graces at the moment, but it would blow over. Eventually. It had to, right? Aside from that, how would he defeat Voldemort if he was away from Hogwarts? And what about Dumbledore? The man had done nothing but what he saw right at the time. He didn’t _want_ to leave Hogwarts, or anything that was there. Or anyone, for that matter. Except for the possible exception of the whole of Slytherin House…

 

 

Away in a very small corner of Harry’s brain, puzzle pieces clicked together and started forming a picture. Harry didn’t realize it right at that moment, but things were starting to make sense. Meanwhile, the vast majority of his mind was preoccupied with something else that this wild girl had told him.

 

 

He was an Elemental. Harry didn’t really know what that phrase meant, but since she said it had been locked away, he guessed that either she was lying or something very, very large had been hidden from him. At this thought, his magic seemed to _burn_ in his veins, as this thought enraged him. It was things being kept from him that had caused a great deal of suffering to come to him. He would stand it no more. It only then occurred to him that perhaps he should listen to what was being said so that he wouldn’t miss being informed of something important.

 

 

“… And that is only the beginning. To tell you any more about this, we would have to go to the school itself, and it’s really not worth the effort to go over the border towing another person twice in the same day. Shall we, Yeux Vert?”

 

 

“What?”

 

 

A long, low, loud groan was heard throughout the chamber and could be heard echoing for many minutes afterward.

 

 

**{°~ <^>~°}**

 

 

After Clarissa had let him out of the cage, claiming that she would give her speeches later after he got his finances worked out (He needed to transfer the tuition, even though he had no intentions of doing that), she transferred them to a muggle alleyway near Dragon alley via that odd thingy that she called ‘Death’s Doors’. He wasn’t sure that she wasn’t pulling his leg, though, considering the smirk on her face as she answered his question.

 

 

When she immediately went to pull him into the tavern, though, he held back. He wasn’t stupid, after all.

 

 

“Are you insane? If we go in there with me like this, everyone will know who I am and want to shake my hand or something. Shouldn’t you at least glamour me first?”

 

 

She gave him a strange look, like his head was screwed on wrong or something.

 

 

“You DO know that the glamour you had up for the party and the Muggles is gone now, right? Really, I have to commend you for excellent spell casting. The glamour you had on encompassed you really very thoroughly. But it has worn off now, or have you not looked in the mirror lately? You really are very handsome, I don’t know why you didn’t remove your glamours at the party, even if I _do_ understand about not wanting to show your ears without knowing who, exactly, was at the party. In fact, it was probably better that you did not, considering the number of muggles at that warehouse.”

 

 

He must have given another clueless look, because she raised an eyebrow and conjured a full length mirror. Harry was so shocked by his reflection that the past 24 or 48 hours caught up with him immediately. He fell into a dead faint. His last thought was echoed by Clarissa’s voice, chasing him into unconsciousness.

 

 

“Why does this always happen to me?”

 

 

**{°~ <^>~°}**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N First of all, I would like to profoundly thank PrettyPheonix (Known as Lolotte30622F.Off on fanfiction .net) for translating the paragraph in French for me. She was also the one to point out that Vert-les-Yeux, or green eyes, should be Yeux Vert. Hopefully, she will continue to work with me, because I don’t know a scrap of French, and I downright HATE using online translators, such as Google Translate. All credit for translating goes to PrettyPheonix, although the words themselves that were translated belong to me. In case that was clear to anyone at all.
> 
> Also, ‘Death’s Doors’ is not my invention, but I have tweaked it a bit. It appears in ‘Stand against the Moon’ by Batasoui. It is also used without the explicit permission of the author, because she had one helluva temper. You, as a reader, are welcome to report this to her. So- I DISCLAIM!
> 
> Told you updates were infrequent. Anyway, I got a new keyboard, so maybe I’ll have some more inspiration to go along with it? A reviewer was concerned with the velocity and escalation of this story- Let me clear this up immediately. This is SUPPOSED to be one hell of a kick-ass story that has nothing resembling real life. That means back to back orgasms, emergencies, parties, classes, you name it, it’s there. So if you’re looking for some slow paced story with all the adventure and action cut out of it and dealing purely with emotions and shit like that, then this AIN’T for you. Thank you.
> 
> On another note, I posted another fic here called Songs for Spock. The tags are sorely lacking on it, but whatever. Plenty of emotions there, really. It’s stupid and immature of me to advertise like this, but if knowledge is power, then to be anonymous it to be unconquerable, right? So I suppose I’m giving you all the power to conquer me.
> 
> Flames are encouraged, and my mind is nothing but an innuendo.
> 
> One last note: I would like a beta reader with a high tolerance for weird. I need someone to make sure that the characters are acting like how I want them to act, whilst not giving too much away. This would include me bouncing ideas off of them, since the plot for this is largely undeveloped, and access to my [largely disjointed] notes. Also, I have an extremely limited Internet connection, so communication will be infrequent. I’m more active on Fanfiction .net, and that is my preferred modus of operandi, since I still haven’t really got the hang of this site. So yeah. If you are interested, or know someone who would be, then drop me a line, kay? Thanks for reading this ridiculously l-o-n-g AN, if you made it this far. Congratulations!


	4. Find Yourself

Chapter 4 – Find Yourself

 

 

Harry slowly trudged his way into the waking world. His first impression was of hard, uneven stone. Had he been ­kidnapped by Death Eaters, and was now in one of the dungeons? A splash of cold water flew in the face of that when a lightly accented voice invaded his ears.

 

 

“What is it with you passing out? If your magic wasn’t so bound up, and ergo is probably making your emotional state unstable, I would disqualify you for Assinists on that alone. Now, get up and stare at your own reflection until you STOP passing the fuck out!” Oh yeah. He now remembered the moments prior to passing out- how horrifying. And Clarissa had said something about his ears? He opened his eyes as he heard a breath being taken in, most likely preparing to nag on him some more.

 

 

“I’m up, I’m up. Stop nagging me. You’re starting to sound like Hermione.” Her left eyebrow went up, and he mentally reviewed his statement. _Oh_. He was going to have to explain to this almost-stranger who Hermione was. Ron would have got it, or really anyone from Hogwarts. See, _this_ was why he didn’t want to switch schools. He was about to express the sentiment to the very bored Clarissa, who was currently filing her nails, when he caught sight of his reflection. Standing up, he walked over to the gilded mirror propped up against the alley wall and studied his reflection.

 

 

His first impression was just how little he looked like himself. Gone was the pale, skinny boy with glasses and wild, messy hair. In his place was someone whom people would drool over, if his exploits in London were any indication. His eyes had always been green, like emerald gemstones, but had now lightened to a piercing Avada-Kedavra green. His hair remained the same length, but instead of looking like a robin’s nest, it was mostly straight, with only a slight curl to it. This topped a lean but muscular figure that, instead of Harry’s usual short, 5’ 8” height, looked closer to 5’ 11’’ or even a full six feet. His ears, though… those were the biggest difference. They were no longer round, but rather elegantly pointed at the ends, poking out timidly from raven hair. He must have stood there a while, examining him-

 

 

“You’re a looker alright, that’s for sure. Now can we go shopping, or am I gonna need to drag your chained ass to the school naked?”

 

 

Harry’s reflection blinked long and slow at her statement.

 

 

“Chained? Is that an offer, or a threat Clarissa?”

 

 

It was Clarissa’s turn to blink.

 

 

“I thought you knew. Some of the bounds require the explicit permission of the boundee. Your magic is tied up sixteen ways to Sunday. That includes your magical inheritance and elemental abilities, which was why your test was on mental premises only, and not magical. And I’m not even very good at reading magical signatures. You really didn’t know?”

 

 

Harry already knew that his magic was bound, but not the extent. Only one person could have done this, based on Ron and Hermione’s comments when they thought he had been sleeping. Dumbledore. He kept a tight lid on his anger, but if he was bound as much as she said, then he could have been raging against the world and his magic still wouldn’t have reacted. That meant- _oh._ He decided right then that he would make Dumbledore burn in his own personal hell _before_ sending him to the demons of Hell. But in the meantime-

 

 

“How the hell do I fix this?” escaped his thoughts.

 

 

His unconscious statement was met with tinkling laughter.

 

 

“Silly. You either get the person who bound them to unwind them, or you meditate and get your magic to unwind its self, or, failing that, you go to a Master and get it unbound. What else would you do? Although judging from the fact that your magic is currently in turmoil, it popped a few of the bounds since two nights ago and was not completely undamaged from it. Else, I would have allowed you to duel me before capturing you.”

 

 

Does this never end?

 

 

“What do you mean, not undamaged?”

 

 

“Do they teach you no magical theory at that school of yours? I know it’s the laughingstock of the world, but one would think… I suppose I overestimate them. Anyway, since it’s August First today, you probably came into some sort of magical inheritance on your birthday. Judging from your looks, I would say that you have some Fae blood in you, although since your ears don’t come up to the crown of your head, you are definitely not full-blooded. Probably half, possibly less. Maybe three-quarters. This would be a creature inheritance. Your eyes changed, since the blast of Spice I gave you would negate any eye glamors that you had, and that indicates a glamour- one of the Fae-Folk’s Glamouries, to be specific- that was broken. From what I got off of your aura, it’s amazing that you’re still alive and not a squib or somezing. What I meant by my statement was that since your magical core grew in size and compacticity during your Inheritance, some of the binds that were holding it broke, like a shirt two sizes too small for you. _Compris_? Your magic would have depleted itself during the process a bit more than normal than if you had cast a high-level spell. We call that self-inflicted injury ‘damaged.’ If it was you who had used the magic, we would instead call it ‘magical exhaustion.’ It is only temporary though, so don’t worry. However, it is recommended that you not use your magic for several days afterward.”

 

 

Harry closed his eyes, assimilating the information.

 

 

“Can you tell who put the binds on my magic?” he asked. He knew that Dumbledore had put something on him called ‘master bindings,’ but he didn’t have any way to research that at the moment. It would be valuable to know if he had any others to deal with. To make them burn along with Dumbledore. To Harry, it was sacrilege to do anything to his personal magic except use it and let it grow. Merlin only knew what effects this will have on him.

 

 

“I can’t tell you who, no. But I can feel different magical signatures, and you have at least three on you, maybe more. Two are old, at least a decade, and one is somewhat newer. Granted, it’s hard to tell. I am not the most adept at this, either. Certainly not the best in my Magical Sensory class, that’s for sure. So you may have more than three. On the bright side, if I meet the person or come into contact with something else tainted with this magical signature, I will recognize it. Unless, of course, the person is dead.” Clarissa yawned after completing her statement. “Say, can we switch your tuition over to the Academy now and continue this discussion later? I do not mean to undermine the importance of this, but there is little we can do immediately. I want to crash somewhere tonight, and you cannot leave my sight until I’ve brought you over to the Ether. And at the rate we’re going, it may not be for several weeks yet.”

 

 

Harry took stock of his magical and energy levels. His magic was still unsettled, and he felt a strange stretching sensation that he thought was most likely the bindings. His energy… was getting low. It was also dark in the alleyway, more so then when they had first came there. Sleeping was still a necessity, and he didn’t know how much longer he could hold off taking stock of his emotional state, and he wanted to be firmly alone when he did that. There was also aforementioned research to be done, which probably merited a trip to Flourish and Blott’s. There was also the matter of…

 

 

“You never asked if I wanted to go to this school. I don’t, for the record. So tell me, why should I go to a school with death threats and move away from all of my friends, and away from the guidance of the greatest wizard that I know, Albus Dumbledore? I won’t transfer anything until you convince me. But… well, it is getting dark. So how about we get a room at the Leaky Cauldron and discuss this there? Also, I need to go to the book store. Glamour me and we can go. How about it?”

 

 

To say the least, she didn’t look impressed at his ultimatum. She did, however, raise an eyebrow.

 

 

“This is not an option. You shouldn’t be using magic or having magic used on you until your magic settles, and it will be at least another twenty-four hours until it does, and probably more with those bindings on it. Also, you want me to stay in a pub? Forget it. We still have the room at the Luxe in New York. I’ll bring you there and we can crash. You can go to the book store tomorrow. In fact, we should just go to Gringotts and do our shopping in the magical shopping district of New York- Way Square. Savvy? And didn’t you check your pockets? I put your formal acceptance letter in one, thinking that the first thing that you would do would be to check your pockets for anything stolen, like _most_ people would. It explains everything much clearer than I can. This includes the rather self-explanatory reasons that you would want to _enroll_ to the school in the first place.”

 

 

Looking at her logic, he had no choice but to agree. He was also curious to see another magical shopping district. Diagon Alley and Hogsmead were old news to him by now. He would see about this damn school- Dumbledore wasn’t looking too hot right now.

 

 

**{°~ <^>~°}**

 

 

After having ‘Portaled’ them to the room where he had been kidnapped, Clarissa immediately went to a door and opened it.

 

 

“Zis is my room. Yours is at the other end of the common area. I will warn you once, and only once: do NOT even touch ze doorknob or door unless you want your hand to be severed off, and if you steel manage to open ze door, zen _je te traînerai jusqu’au huitième cercle d’Esmos!”_ she snarled. Then came a pleasant smile on her face. “ _Bon soir_ , ‘Aryy Potter.”

 

 

 _Okaaaaay. Note to self: when tired, she is angry, and prone to mood swings, which are frightening. Never touch her door or the handle._ Harry stared at the door for a minute afterward, to see if there would be another appearance. There was none. Turning, he put his hands in his pockets and slowly walked to his door. He felt the letter that Clarissa had apparently put in there. He entered the room, sat down on a chair that looked vaguely like a misshapen, flattened can but was very comfortable, and took the letter out. It was made of yellowed parchment with the address in a bold jet black ink:

 

****

**_To Mr. Harry Potter of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._ **

 

That seemed normal enough. Flipping it over, he saw the envelope sealed with a very peculiar wax seal, which was a quarter glassy white, a quarter royal blue, a quarter emerald green, and one-quarter bloody red. It was difficult to make out the design out in the dimmed lights- he got up and turned on the overhead lights before proceeding. Blinking in the sudden light, he returned to his perch of pillows and oddly shaped furniture before putting his right index finger under the flap and slowly slid it diagonally towards the seal. When it met the seal, his finger experienced a large pinch on the pad and he saw his blood stain the aged yellow paper. He quickly withdrew his finger and put it in his mouth. The letter floated up to chin-level and was now glowing - a bright, sunshine yellow that burnished at the edges of the aura. Suddenly, a crisp British voice rang out.

 

 

“Your blood has been identified as belonging to Harry James Potter, as according to his magical birth certificate. It was also identified as being seconds old. If you are actually Harry James Potter, then you will be able to hear this. If you are not, then anyone within a proximity of ten meters will be incapacitated in ten, nine, eight, seven-” A bright flash extended twenty meters in that second. Considering how the clock and lights went out, Muggle devices had also become ‘incapacitated,’ leaving only the now white-blue of the letter to illuminate the space.

 

The voice was back. “Hello, Harry James Potter. If you have received this letter, then you have been accepted into the Assinists Academy of Formal Advanced Training, headed by the Assinists Formal Academy Council of Transdimensionality. I am Khanda, one of the Council’s spokespersons. If procedure was followed by our junior representatives, then you have passed their minor test of your attributes and received this letter from them. If procedure was not followed, then please fill out the appropriate form in the package and say ‘Return’. Anyone and anything incapacitated by the privacy measures will resume their natural state when this message is over. If at any time you would like to pause this message, merely say ‘pause’. To resume, say ‘continue.’

 

 

“A note before I continue. The name on your British Magical Birth Certificate did not match your Unseelie Fey Magical Birth Certificate, which states that your name is Chaleur Obdurate Nicodemus Evans-Sy’len. We addressed this to Harry James Potter since you are attending a British school and are currently living in Britain. If you want to switch the school’s records, or replace it with another identity, then there are forms enclosed that you may fill out and say ‘Switch’ to send.”

 

 

“PAUSE!” Harry shouted out. His head was spinning. He had TWO birth certificates? Three, if you counted his Muggle records. Who was he? Chaleur whoever or Harry Potter? Unseelie? Clarissa had said something about having Fae blood, but… reaching up to feel his newly pointed ears, he took a deep breath and decided to deal with the ramifications of this later, after the letter was done with.

 

 

“Continue.”

 

 

“Here at Assinists Academy, we offer a wide variety of courses for the aspiring magical individual. Our campus, located in New York City of the United States of America, hosts a variety of events from school contests to the occasional public execution. Our courses are designed to be personalized to the individual, so they may travel their academic studies at their own pace. The introductory courses include but are not limited to Necromancy, Magical Theory, Divination for the Undivinable, Manipulating Time, Soul Magic, and, of course, Elemental magic.

 

 

“Our school was founded by and is currently headed by Marnia J’Quan especially for the small number of Elementals in the magical community to let them arm themselves and prepare them for the unfortunately necessary task of acquiring and practicing the skills to defend themselves to the point of killing many other entities. Since the International Confederation of Wizards in the 1600’s declared that ‘Any magical person, creature, device, enchantment, or thing that holds possible control of the elements of nature, termed “Elemental,” shall be immediately destroyed in any comprehensible way,’ several of our ilk came together and fled to a realm beyond space and time where we currently exist. Soon thereafter, our school was founded and a system was put into place, to train and equip the future generations of Elementals to survive whichever world they may choose to live in.

 

 

“Prospective student, a clear warning will be put here now. This Academy is not for the undriven, the unskilled, or the faint at heart. You WILL be required to kill other humans and animals. We do our best to bring out the potential in students, but that oftentimes leaves the student dead. If you are not prepared for these possibilities and eventualities, please request to your emissary for the ‘Rejection Sequence.’ This includes binding your Elemental magic and wiping your memories of the emissary and all knowledge of the school. This is done not only for our security, but yours as well. Your Elemental magic will, for all intents and purposes, disappear. It may cause damage to you, which you will not be able to remember. This is to keep you and your lines safe from the regular Human governing bodies.

 

 

“If you choose to proceed, then please fill out the forms below and give them to your guide, who will then accompany you to get your supplies and transport you to the school. Also read the list of school rules enclosed. Term starts October First and summer break starts the first weekend in July. Please note that the weekends are open to travel, but if you don’t make in inside the gates you will either have to wait a week to get inside or find alternate routes to your classes. Also, getting to classes on time is your issue. Whether the teachers lock their doors at the starting time is their business. There is no bell on campus, so it is highly recommended that you invest in a pocket-watch with a _silent_ alarm. For other details, please look at the enclosed brochure and Guide of Conduct.

 

 

“Thank you for considering Assinists Academy of Formal Advanced Training, and we hope that you will choose us for your education.”

 

 

The glow faded, and after several minutes of staring at it in shock, the lights came back on. He was, as usual these days, shocked. Aside from the ridiculous entrance letter, the mere idea of this _actually existing_ was, to say the least, unlikely. But… Clarissa did seem to be something otherworldly, even for the magical world. He still couldn’t put his finger on _what_ she was, other than non-human. But that brought up his own… dubious human roots, as well. Fae birth certificate? What was a Fae, anyway? The only renderings of faeries that he had seen were the muggle type- with one glaring exception, but were pixies counted as Fae? Were they even related? He shuddered at the thought. If what the entrance letter said was correct- and why would they have reason to lie?- he really, really, _really_ didn’t want to be related to the Cornish pixies that was set free on his second-year Defense Against the Dark Arts class. And the classes… He wasn’t quite sure that he wanted to attend any of them. Who wanted to take Necromancy? And Manipulating Time just sounded like _way too much trouble_. And another thing-

 

 

His thoughts were interrupted by a rapid knock on his door. Clarissa came in dressed in… The most obscene thing he had seen in a long time, actually. It was a black corset made of lace with shiny leather making something of a grid pattern on it- otherwise, it was see-through. Her breasts bulged out of the thing like she was inviting a feel up. He didn’t look at her bottom but once- he could see a black strip of fabric covering only the most private area of her, and as she tuned to close the door, he could see nothing there whatsoever- just flesh. Her hair was down in the usual curtain of that strange white blonde, lavender-streaked rod-straight silk. She turned around, thankfully, so he was able to focus on her face again. Then came the part that had him flushing cherry-tomato red, he was sure. She crawled up on his half-circle seat and shimmied her way up straddling his legs, which were straight out. In her slow progress, she would sometimes crawl on all fours; giving him a very clear view of her chest. By the time she had made it close enough to put her head by his ear he was softly panting.

 

 

“Do you get the idea of what this school is, now, _Yeax Vert_? Let me spell it out for you: We are an elite school of the most talented members of the magical races. Here you will find elves, dwarves, vampires and werewolves in addition to wizards and many other magical species. Can you handle this? Or shall I wipe your memories and you can go back to living the life you had before?”

 

 

She leaned back as she said this, letting him breathe. _Could I?_ He wondered. _Can I handle being among the tippy-top fittest while in a race for survival?_ He knew that he was not the best, by any means. _But even if I’m not, then what does abandoning this mean?_ But he knew perfectly well what it entailed. _I would be sent back to the Durselys and left in the dark. The mind wipe would probably leave me missing three days of time, with all that it entails and all that I have found out. Going back is not an option. Which leaves me nigh but one choice-._

 

 

“I accept. I _will_ go to Assinists,” he said, steel in his eyes and voice. It promptly collapsed the moment that Clarissa _literally flung_ herself at him. Her hands wrapped around his waist and squeezed, letting him feel every contour of her body. She looked up at him through eyes framed with long, dark lashes and the straight bangs that partially covered her eyes and spoke.

 

 

“Very wonderful zen, _Yeux Vert_. Very wonderful. Now, shall we _celebrate_?” The emphasis on the last word seemed to get heavier with each second. He became ultra-aware of his surroundings. Of the body pressed up against him. Of the cold air flowing out of the lavish room’s A/C unit and nipping his skin, creating a melodious harmony with the heat of the woman hugging him. His eyes darted around the room; _anywhere but down_ , even as she wriggled on his lap. The atmosphere became so heavy with… _something_ , and he didn’t know what that _something_ was, either.

 

 

Now, if Harry _had_ bothered to look down, he would not see the pleading, smoldering expression that he expected would be on her face. No, he would have seen a look of intense concentration. For Clarissa was influencing Harry- or rather, _trying_ to. Eventually, she gave up and went slack in her greed-eyed companion’s hold.

 

 

 _That_ got his attention. He looked down, afraid of what he might see. What he found was not what he was expecting. He saw a face that was completely relaxed eyes closed. Her breathing was deep and even. He would have thought her asleep if not for her lips moving and sound coming out for him to hear.

 

 

“Why? Why did I _have_ to get stuck with the only goddamned bisexual person on the new roster list? I wanted _un snaaaaaack_ …” With those last words, all movement but the steady rise and fall of her chest ceased. She was firmly asleep, it seemed.

 

 

Great, Harry groused to himself. Just great. _Now_ how am I going to go to bed with a half-naked lady lying on my legs?

 

 

… Wait, _snack_!?!?!?

 

 

**{°~ <^>~°}**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is what a summer of 90 degree heat has done to me. Even here, in mid-October it is STILL reaching 88-90 F most every day. Hopefully, it will get colder, and I can think, and therefore update, more often. 
> 
>  
> 
> **To my lovely PrettyPheonix, I thank you once again for your help with the French in this work. All credit to the translation of the phrases in French go to her**
> 
>  
> 
> I learned what it meant to re-write this chapter. _Boy,_ wasn't _that_ a bitch. The entire Acceptance Letter had to be re-worked. Took forever. I hope I will never have to do it again. Granted, I most probably just jinxed myself. -.-
> 
>  
> 
> I am still looking for a beta-reader for grammar and consistency. I apologize for any flaws in this chapter, because I didn't go over it the usual 10 or 20 times. 
> 
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> 
> So, what did you all think of this chapter? Any thoughts on Clarissa's species? And I must ask, and please answer me honestly - is she a Mary-Sue? That haunts me, because she is my first well-developed OC.
> 
> Also, I changed the tags a bit and re-vamped my previous chapters a bit. Chexk it out, if you want. You'll want to re-download the story if you PDF'd it.
> 
>  
> 
> This is far more planned out now, and you are in for some fun once we get past all of these boring intro chapters. Also, is the writing style to your taste? Am I re-using words too much? Do you like the plot so far? Is Harry too OOC? Tell me! :-) 
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>  
> 
> A few more notes that don't specifically relate to this story: Songs for Spock has been taken down on this site, but you can still find it at fanfiction.net . Updates are ongoing, albeit slowly.
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>  
> 
> Also, I started a blog - readerwriterfan.blogspot.com . I currently have a few drafts up of trying to get into a charaters head (I was not successful), a rough draft of my NEXT FANFICTION, along with some notes about me, what I do, and what you're liable to find on the blog. 
> 
>  
> 
> A little info about my next fanfic: The fandom is strictly Kuroshitsuji, which is a Japanese Manga. You can find English translations of it on many different sites, but I use kissmanga.com because of the formatting. Highly recommended, and no yaoi (homosexuality). The soundtrack from the anime (FUNimation has posted all the episodes both in sub and dub on youtube, but you need an account to verify your age) is HIGHLY recommended. Anyway, the title is 'To Fly and to Fall,' and another OC fic of mine, but with some really interesting twists. I already have two chapters and a pretty decent lemon written (I never knew writing lemons were so much fun!) So check it out. Once I have a little more planning and some more written on it, it will go up here with an abridged version on ff.n.
> 
> Happy reading, everyone!


	5. A/N

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Story Update

Please note that this story is abandoned. This is some pretty awful writing to me now, and I'm formally announcing that I've discontinued it. If enough people are interested, I am willing to share my notes and art I've made for this.

 

Thank you for your interest. If you're interested in seeing more recent (and much better) work, I have a tumblr (same name as here), and several of my stories are cross posted here.

 

~AfanofManyStuffs


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